


Now I'm Going Back on the Things That I Know

by barricadebutts



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - WWII, Boys In Love, M/M, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:48:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23354188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barricadebutts/pseuds/barricadebutts
Summary: Will has seen Tom plenty by the time October 1944 comes around. They’ve spent nearly the last three years together— seen each other in every state imaginable at this point. Nothing about Tom Blake should take Will’s breath away, and yet here he is, breathless as he looks at the younger boy in the bright Paris sunshine, eyes sparkling with the biggest grin on his face that Will’s seen yet.Or: Will Schofield buys a camera during leave in Paris and proceeds to take pictures of anything and everything.
Relationships: Tom Blake/William Schofield
Comments: 6
Kudos: 77





	Now I'm Going Back on the Things That I Know

**Author's Note:**

> This is not what I was supposed to be working on, but here we are anyway.   
> This is a slight look into a moment from my reincarnation fic > [ "Hold Me Close Spin Me Slow" ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22885582) that was brought up on Tumblr. I was in the middle of editing another fic, but this flowed out instead.   
> In that fic, two photos are mentioned that I wanted to explore a bit with this time period, so I drafted this little thing. And look! It's actually little!  
> You don't necessarily need to read that one to get this one (I don't even mention the word 'reincarnation' here), but it'd be fun to check that one out anyway!  
> This title isn't from Dermot Kennedy for once, but rather the piano version of "Waking up Slow" by Gabrielle Aplin, so give that a listen if you want!
> 
> Let me know what you think!

Will has seen Tom plenty by the time October 1944 comes around. They’ve spent nearly the last three years together— seen each other in every state imaginable at this point. Nothing about Tom Blake should take Will’s breath away, and yet here he is, breathless as he looks at the younger boy in the bright Paris sunshine, eyes sparkling with the biggest grin on his face that Will’s seen yet.

From their company, four of them have been given a weekend’s leave: him, Tom, Cooke, and Rossi. Even wandering the streets close to the train station, it’s clear they’re not the only ones who have been given leave. Around them, men swarm every conceivable piece of sidewalk. There are so many people that Will could almost be convinced there wasn’t a war happening.

Paris looks nearly untouched by the war that rages right outside its borders. While the number of uniformed men is certainly vast, he does see plenty of locals, mostly women though and other individuals not expected to fight. 

It’s so lovely, and Will can’t stop marveling at it all like the other boys, so he stops thinking for now and watches as his friends people-watch. Cooke and Rossi’s eyes catch on the women walking arm and arm together, but Will only has eyes for Tom.

Being October, the city feels even more heavenly than Will had anticipated. The breeze that blows through the trees pushes various smells from the surrounding cafes towards them, the coffee and fresh-baked bread nearly overwhelming Will’s senses.

There’s something about the overall atmosphere, likely a combination of several things: relief that they’re not out on the front, the feeling of fall in the air, and the cleanliness of their dress uniforms being just a few. Will feels more in touch with himself and this plane of existence than he has in a long time.

The cafes themselves are crowded, but they find themselves drifting toward one anyway. Before they sit though, Will, struck by a sudden need to capture everything over the next few days in as much detail as possible, disappears into a storefront and purchases a cheap camera and a few rolls of film before rejoining the rest of his friends where they’ve sat at a nearby cafe table.

Tom is sitting next to Rossi, Cooke sitting across from the two of them. Will can’t see Cooke, but Rossi and Tom are smiling, bright and wide and looking five years younger. Not for the first time, Will finds that he’s angry that the remainder of their youth has been stolen away when they deserved to be safe at home in England.

Another soldier accidentally bumps into Will’s shoulder as he stands unmoving, causing him to nearly drop his new purchase. It’s an effective tactic to bring his mind back to the present though, gets Will to head in the direction of his friends, loading a roll of film into the camera as he goes.

He gets a round of cheers when he joins the table, flashing his new purchase for the boys to see. Cooke jeers at him in pure Cooke fashion, but Tom and Rossi tell him it’s a good idea and almost immediately pose for Will to take a picture. He relents and snaps a photo before sitting down next to Cooke.

Will is so caught up in watching the boys across from him that he misses whatever Cooke says to have them crack up. It’s a scene that’s begging to be captured forever, so Will does just that, framing Tom in the center of the viewfinder. Tom is leaned forward onto the table with both elbows propped up and head bent forward caught in mid-laugh. Will hopes for one of the first times that he makes it home just so that he can live to develop this picture. He hopes Tom gets to live long enough to see it too.

Throughout the rest of the day, the small group hits a good number of notable landmarks. They traipse down the  Champs-Élysées, Will snapping photos whenever he sees fit. A good number are the boys laughing or looking awed at one thing or another. At the Arc de Triomphe, they flag down a passerby to snap a photo of all four of them looking carefree and like proper young men.

As the sun sets a few hours later, they’re walking slowly along the bank of the Seine swapping stories of things they’d found funny or particularly enjoyable. Rossi mentions a woman from home, but Will tunes most of it out, taking his feedback cues from Tom over Cooke since the latter can never be relied upon for appropriate reactions.

By watching Tom for those cues, he gets to take in the rosy flush of his cheeks both from wine and the cold. His eyes shine in the fading sunlight, something magnificent, and his lips are particularly red— likely stained from the wine— and parted in the ghost of a smile.

Eventually, they loop back to the hotel they’d rented rooms in— two between the four of them, each with double beds. Will is utterly exhausted from how far they’d walked all day, two of his three rolls of film used and now sitting carefully in his front pocket. In reality, they probably haven’t walked farther than they might have during a regular military march, but his feet don’t hurt nearly as much as they would have by doing the latter. Perhaps it’s the nature of it all. Will would walk circles around Paris a hundred times over than go back to the front if he were given the choice.

Tuning back into the conversation as they slow, Will catches Rossi saying something about going on to a pub for some more drinks. The prospect of staying out for any longer though is utterly unappealing. His mind is focused solely on the bed waiting upstairs for him, on the idea that he gets to sleep in a proper bed for the first time since his last leave, if only for two nights.

So, with that on his mind, Will politely declines and expects that to be the end of it. Before he’s inside though, he feels a hand on his shoulder and turns to see Tom standing there in the fading light offered by the setting sun. Will is so tired that he forgets for a moment what sharing a hotel room with Tom gets to mean.

Tom follows Will up the stairs and to their hotel room silently, waits patiently for Will to unlock the door and lead them inside before raising a few inches on his toes to kiss Will sweetly on the mouth.

It’s expected, but Will still can’t help the surprised little noise that bubbles from his throat. With one hand settling on the back of Tom’s neck, he blindly drops his camera onto the desk against the wall nearest them, the hollow thunk of it assuring him it’s landed safely.

The feeling of Tom’s hands on Will, of Will’s own hands sliding down Tom’s neck and down his wool uniform jacket, feels as heavenly as it always does, but it doesn’t do much to chase away the bone-deep exhaustion Will feels.

Will pulls his mouth away and lets his head rest against Tom’s left temple, Will’s mouth hovering in the hollow of where Tom’s jaw meets his neck. The silence that surrounds them feels comforting with just enough static to keep Will on his toes. He murmurs to Tom of his desires— of his exhaustion, but of the need to remain close. Perhaps, he tells Tom, perhaps in the morning, when Will’s prepared to make him work for it, he’ll treat him right and then capture how good he looks in the aftermath on film.

Despite Will’s fear that Tom would be upset at being turned down, the younger boy’s shoulders don’t sag, and he doesn’t pull away and leave Will cold and alone. Instead, Tom nods and whispers,  _ okay _ , before unbuttoning Will’s outer jacket for him.

Like this, in the dim light of the room with Tom methodically undressing Will, it isn’t sexual. Will can hardly describe it, put into words how Tom’s fingers and palms feel like home, like a lifeline back to normality, as he readies them for bed.

Despite the room they’d rented having two double beds, Tom leads Will to one of them and climbs in with him. It’s expected, they’ll just have to unmake the other bed in the morning. Will collapses against the pillows and pulls Tom down to him, peppering kisses to Tom’s bare forearm that keeps him balanced over Will.

They may be in the middle of a war, but laying in a rented bed exchanging unhurried and tame kisses with Tom while their mates are busy getting drunk feels incredibly domestic. It makes Will yearn for the days to come after this damned war. He’ll survive through sheer force of will to get to mornings and nights like this.

Will drifts to sleep to the feeling of Tom kissing at his skin wherever he’s able to reach. They lay facing each other, barely able to make out the other’s face with the blackout curtains drawn to cover most of the tall windows. Tom places small kisses across each of Will’s knuckles and against his palms as if Will were something to be worshipped, as if Tom were seeking salvation of his own against the sins he’d committed in the name of war.

Will’s sleep is filled with thoughts of how Tom has no need to seek salvation or forgiveness from him or anyone else— if Tom asked for it, Will would grant it without a second thought as to why he needed it.

The sliver of window that hadn’t been covered by the blackout curtains lets the sunlight in once morning comes, the thin slice stretching across the bed in an unbroken stream of new possibilities. 

Tom’s form is heavy and warm on Will’s chest, little breaths that reaffirm that he’s still sleeping puffing methodically against Will’s collarbone. Their legs are tangled as well, and Will can’t remember the last time he woke from sleep as slowly and as satisfying as he is now. Not even on his last leave did he feel like this (though that’s probably because he’d been alone).

Will should really let Tom sleep for as long as he can, but he can’t resist lightly scratching up Tom’s bare back, his undershirt lost somewhere in the middle of the night. Time drags by, the sun rises higher in the sky, and the room gets brighter by association.

Sooner rather than later, Tom stirs in Will’s arms— a groan here, the tightening and relaxing of muscles there. A thought drifts to the forefront of Will’s mind of what he’d told Tom the night before— about waiting until the morning for anything worthwhile. He wonders if Tom also remembers that.

One of Tom’s legs that are tangled in Wills moves against what’s practically Will’s entire lower half. Tom’s breaths against Will’s collarbone cease, replaced instead by the gentle press of the former’s lips.  _ So _ , Will thinks,  _ he’s likely remembered. _

Perhaps it’s because it’s still some time before noon, or perhaps it’s because they actually have time on their hands for once, but they truly do work each other over slowly and thoroughly. True to his word from the night before, Will gives Tom what he would have begged for then.

Their bodies slide together, and after Tom makes Will come by simply kissing up his neck and palming him through his night clothes. Will flips them over once he’s recovered, caging Tom between his arms. Tom’s pupils are blown wide, the only trace of his bright blue eyes are thin rings surrounding the black. Will stares for too long before Tom’s pulling Will’s mouth to his own, wasting no time before licking into Will’s own mouth.

It’d be so easy to give himself over to Tom fully, to let the other boy do to him what he wanted, but Will made a promise. So, he takes control, letting one of his hands travel down across Tom’s chest, pausing frustratingly close to the waistband of Tom’s underwear.

The picture that Tom’s face makes when Will finally relents to slipping his hand down to take Tom in his hand is something he wishes he could take a photo of. If only he could pause time. Tom goes slack-jawed as Will gives him a taste of his own medicine— drinks in the whines and moans Tom releases into Will’s mouth.

Will teases Tom to just shy of his limit, his release sneaking up on him until it leaves Tom shaking.

They don’t stop there though. Time loses all meaning as they take each other apart further, pulling orgasms from each other once more before Will’s able to get inside of Tom. It may not be for longer than a few minutes at this point because of how strung out and oversensitive they both are, but it’s enough.

Kisses are barely more than the slide of open mouths against lips and skin. Moans are silenced as best as they’re able to, but it wouldn’t surprise Will to walk out of their room and right into a court-martial.

Like these things tend to play out, Tom loses control first, pulling Will over the edge right behind him. This orgasm, what is very likely his final one this morning, nearly whites out his vision for a good few seconds. Will has his face buried into Tom’s neck, trying not to bite down to avoid a bruise he can’t hide.

After, it takes a good few minutes for Will to force words out of his mouth that are anywhere near coherent. Tom doesn’t say anything either though, so it’s likely that he shares the same mind-numbing feeling.

They exchange a few slow and deep kisses before a thought breaks through the haze of Will’s mind. As carefully as he can, Will picks his way out of the bed to minimal protests and does well not to fall flat on his face once he stands.

Will’s camera is still sitting on the desk from the night before, and he grabs now at the strap and winds the film before walking back to the bed. Tom grants him a questioning noise and laughs breathily to himself when he sees what’s in Will’s hand.

Will figures he has to go for the full effect now, so he climbs to stand on the bed at Tom’s feet, peaking into the viewfinder once more to line up the shot. Tom looks absolutely angelic like this, sheets strewn about and hair sticking up every which way. His lips are swollen and his smile is still blissed out from the moments prior. Reaching blindly behind him, Will pulls open a curtain to let more light in before snapping the photo. Thinking back, Will thinks he was wrong yesterday— out of all the photos he’s taken, he can’t  _ wait _ to see that one.

Tom predictably laughs at him and gladly accepts Will back into his arms when he collapses down to the mattress. They should get up and get ready, but they’ve got time. So, for now, they occupy themselves with each other’s warmth until Cooke and Rossi manage to rouse themselves and come to find them.

**Author's Note:**

> You made it! Why don't you let me know what you thought down below?  
> You can also come scream with me @ kolyarostovs on tumblr.
> 
> Also also, the epilogue of my Titanic au will still be posted this weekend most likely, so now, I haven't forgotten about that.


End file.
